Cold Sunday Night
by Sid Hawk
Summary: One Sunday night a man sits in his house and notices he's gonna be robbed. But he actually kicked the robber's ass. Not good the robber was in the Mafia. Watch the story unfold! Rated M for language, violence, sensuality, and drugs. PLEASE REVIEW!
1. Reflex

Sid Hawk's

Cold Sunday Night

**Disclaimer: I do not own Grand Theft Auto, GTAII, GTAIII, GTA Vice City, GTA San Andreas, GTA Liberty City Stories or any other GTA games, characters, merchandise, or any other GTA products. I do not own Deftones, or any of their songs, or any Deftones merchandise, unless they own a Gibson replica, a Sabian B8 cymbal set, Remo drums and pedals, Zildian hi-hats or Zildian Vic-Firth 5A Nylon-tipped drum-sticks. Same goes to all other bands included in the story. All characters are property of me except for Tommy Vercetti and all other GTA characters, and all GTA cities included in the story are property of their respective owners.**

I got a call from Robert again on Friday. He needed some pot. I was fresh out from the week before, sitting in my house by the fire listening to Deftones and drinking water in order to deal with the damn cottonmouth. Alone by the fire listening to low minor-key music and smoking weed. It tends to make one depressed.

So I sat depressed, by this fire that gradually grew colder after every inch away from the world I went, every step away from reality I took, and every hit of my grass taken by the lips of which I bear, the ones that sit motionless by the cold fire, un-movable. So as much as I wanted to scream about my slow descent to rock bottom in the cold 2-bedroom house of which I lived, with-out a soul-mate, I could not, and so I sat, bearing this fact upon my mind, that I could never feel so much more in touch with myself, more in touch with life, and more in touch with the 9mm being pressed against my neck.

Chapter One:

Reflex

There's an urban myth that when smoking weed and getting high you get a weird dose of reflex, that is, you can catch a falling glass of wine in mid-air with no problem, yet you can't get up and walk even if you tried. Very strange idea, isn't it? Well in my case, it surprisingly worked.

I spun around as fast as I could have turned on a faucet of water in my kitchen sink, and with the same amount of ease, as well. I then took the gun out of his hand faster than my own finger could have pulled the trigger. Well, that's what I thought, until I did pull the trigger. Amazingly it was silenced, and I was very grateful. But, not entirely grateful, because of one thing:

I just fucking killed a man.

I was no longer high.

I was no longer depressed.

I was only scared out of my mind.

All the questions went through my mind. "What do I do with the body? Where do I take it? How do I cover up the blood? What do neighbors think about a man coming up in a huge Compact pickup, wearing a mask, wielding a silenced 9mm and seeing that the man never came out?

It was then that the phone rang…perfect timing. I noticed I still wielded the gun, and I still noticed that "Minerva" – Deftones was playing. Not noticing, I shot the radio and stopped the beautiful music from coming out of it. I then proceeded to picking up the phone, which was greeted warmly by a raspy of a very pissed off Italian.

Don Joey Leone of the Liberty City Mafia was on MY phone, cussing ME out. On any other occasion, I might have been honored.

"You…PRICK! You mother-fucking PRICK! You killed Toni fucking Cipriani! You better watch your fucking back, 'cause we gonna KILL you for that!"

That was it. Dial-tone after that was all to be heard. It took me a moment to let it soak in. First I was just sitting and going "…damn, he is PISSED." Then it hit me like a bullet, and thankfully it wasn't. I was soon to have a bullet hit me, unless I figured out a way to get myself out of this. I had to think quickly. I had to figure it out.

In about 5 seconds, I had it. I'd change my name and find a place to stay, probably with one of my friends. I'd dye my hair jet black and grow a goatee. I'd die that black as well. And I'd be named…

James Wren. The name comes from my old friend, Alex Wren, right before he died about 3 years ago. He was Tommy Vercetti, but nicknamed himself Alex Wren.

And about my current life … well … I'd burn the house down and make them think that it was a rival gang act, and it would destroy the body as well as "myself," or at least, that's what the Mafia would think happened to me.

It was flawless, and it would work.

I grabbed the body and put it into the fire. I poured some oil right in front of the fire and made an oil trail to different parts of my 2-bedroom, 1-bathroom, and 1-kitchen house. The stove got some as well as the rug and couches, and some lights were tipped onto the primary trial. One trail forked from the other two back to my room. After I grabbed my stuff, which consisted of clothes, CDs and MP3s and my CD/MP3 player, and the 200 dollars I had, I rushed back into the living room, where the body was already fried to a crisp and the trails were already starting to get lit. So I had to get the fuck out of there, and fast.

2 hours later it was 1:37 AM and I realized I was still kind of high. I laughed softly as I watched the house silently burn down from across the street where I sat under a street-light. I was just making sure during that whole 2 hours that it was gonna go DOWN. And no police, no fire, no nothing. Not yet. Thank god this little Liberty City break-off cul-de-sac never has any night-life. So by the time someone called the police, the building would be down. Finally, I rose from the curb and stole a car I hot-wired that sat across the street. It was nice, a Stallion… which is nothing special, but a good car, none-the-less.

So I set off to find my new life.


	2. Manhunt

A little note, guys. Sorry I have been gone so long, but I missed this so I decided to come back and continue this story. Enjoy.

Cold Sunday Night

-Sid Hawk

Disclaimer: if you need anything else but the last chapter's disclaimer note, then you are BLIND. Also, PLEASE REVIEW; I LIKE REVIEWS…A LOT! Thanks.

Chapter II

Manhunt

It was 7 am. I was driving to a local gun shop to stock myself up with the small amount of money I had, 300 dollars, and was looking for a place I could get some GOOD guns. Sadly, I didn't have enough money, you know?

The next thing I did was amazing. An absolutely desperate move I made to get the stuff I needed. I saw a pimp. A big pimp. A RICH pimp. So naturally, I stopped. I got out of the car and walked up to him. He looked around at me.

"What's up, baby?" he asked. "You need some stuff from one of my girls back home?"

"No…" I replied, "I need money. And you look wealthy."

That moment, the idiot found a chance to look away and imagine himself being so awesome, so that's when I took out the shard of glass I found near the window at my house before I burnt it down. I stabbed him in the throat and then gutted the thing into his shoulder. Before he could choke out his soft cries for help, I got him in the gut, then the heart.

He was, clearly, dead. I took some cash (5,000 bucks, enough to keep me alive for quite a long time, which I would definitely need) and also found a small pistol in his left back pocket (the one back at my place burnt with the rest --- there was no more ammo.) Good thing it was early, so no one was out, really.

I went into the Ammunation that I was JUST in front of and talked to the clerk about the .357, the Uzi and the Silenced 9 mm. They all looked good…but why pay for them? Hell, I already killed 2 men in the past couple of hours. 3 wouldn't hurt.

I quickly pulled out the pistol and shot. As he fell to the floor, my gunshot rang out. I needed to do something, fast. I saw the TV. It appeared to be showing my burnt down house. The reporter was saying something about a gang note being left at the scene, telling about how the man who killed Joey was gonna die.

That was my note of course, but it was true. But shit, I made a mistake. The police will know I'm on the run, and I do have a record, for being caught in possession and under the influence of marijuana. So if I get caught, I'm basically screwed. Well, not basically, just, screwed.

So I took all the guns that could fit into the belt I also took, and it was about 4 or 5; a pistol, a silenced pistol, a .357, an Uzi and a sawn-off. Now wait a minute. What would I do to cover it up?

That's when I got it. The mafia was after me right? So let's just make it look like the same thing happened. They found me and tried to kill me by burning Ammunation down, and failed. I'd also put in the body of the pimp. Then everything would be done.

The next couple of hours were fast…mostly just running to about 10 am; I couldn't remember anything up to the point where a cop saw me. I was smoking a bit of weed and then I heard him call for me. I dropped it and ran. I hid in a dark corner of an alley when the bastard showed up. He waited in front of the shadow, looking in it a bit. Finally he took out his nightstick so he could poke around through there.

Not on my watch. I was starting to piss myself off, because I kept on killing EVERYONE. I shot the cop with the silenced pistol and dragged him into the shadow, behind a dumpster in complete darkness, so the only people to find him would be a guy and a whore finding a place to fuck.

The next sounds I heard were the sounds of a seriously cruel fate. They were the fuzzy sounds of a police radio. All I heard was "On our way" then static, but that's all I needed to hear. I heard sirens in the distance.

I ran. I ran and ran and ran until my lungs felt like they were on fire. Then I ran some more. It was peachy, running from sirens inching closer and closer to you with your lungs so screwed up on pot that it was almost as if your were to die.

Finally I HAD to stop. I hid in another dark shadow in another dark alley.

And there they were, about four or five of them. One of them was a Chief and the rest were some dumb little peons and grunts. I had to take out the chief first, because the rest of them would be afraid. My deep breathing was hard to cease. The chief heard me, so I had to hold my breath, not an easy task at this moment. I held it until he passed me and they followed.

"Johnson!" I heard, "You take a right, and Smith will follow. The rest of you guys look around this alley, I heard a lot of footsteps; running, right when we arrived."

Shit, the bastards heard me. Oh well, I was controlling my breathing a bit by now, so I waited for the chief to come and he was close to the shadow. I couldn't see any others so I kicked a bottle. He came into the shadow, where there was nothing but a few dumpsters. I hid behind one and waited for him. Once he spotted me, I kicked him in the knee-cap, which broke his leg. He uttered a small squeak of pain, but I pistol whipped him in the neck and shot him in the head with the 9mm-SD.

I took his clothes, which was a pretty smart idea. I just took off the chief badge. I decided to walk around as though I was just another cop so they didn't see my face. There were two up ahead, and a turn to the right and a turn to the left, which they blocked. The turn to the right leaded to streets, and the one they blocked to the left lead to the cruiser. If I went right I would still have to go around to the cruiser and risk being seen. I had an idea. I took a bottle lying in the right shadowy turn and threw it over to where the chief was. They bought it and ran to it, which left the left turn vulnerable, so I ran past them and they heard me.

"Who is he?"

"I don't know, I don't recognize him… Hey, come back here!"

I didn't. I kept on running to the car and then…

_**BLAM!**_

It missed, thankfully. I hopped in the cruiser and just I suspected, they left the keys in the car so I drove off, and drove to a small barber-shop. It was just past 10:30. I died my hair red, and cut it into a Mohawk. The barber wasn't very talkative, but just when I looked at myself in the mirror I spotted my picture on the wall with a safety-pin through my face. I then realized the barber was in the mafia…

I turned around and saw the gun at my head. I grabbed it and whipped it up and he shot the roof. I yanked it away and threw it into the sink. Then he hit me in the face. I ducked down and held my eye with my other hand on the ground and attempted to trip him. He jumped and landed on my foot, which I kicked upward, sending him onto his back. I jumped up and landed on his stomach, and he uttered a cry of pain. I kicked him in the face and shot him with my 9mm-SD. But the earlier gunshot might have attracted some cops, so I decided there was only one way to solve this.

I burned it and ran out the back door. It was about 11 now. I hadn't slept for a while, so I found an abandoned house that I just ran to. No police cruiser, because if I parked that outside, they'd know where to find me. I ran inside, and realized for the first time how exhausted I was. I also realized I had the cops and the mafia after me, and that just about every force of danger was after me. It was hard to make it all out, which tired me even more. I found a bed upstairs and slowly walked to it. I just about got in, until…

**SMACK!**

I took a pistol in the temple. I looked up and saw a mafia-member. The Don followed and said "Don't kill him; I need to sort him out." The cool blood soothed me, for some reason, so I just lost all energy and passed out on the freezing floor.


	3. A Second Chance?

**CHAPTER 3:**

_**A Second Chance?**_

I was awakened abruptly by a kick to the chest. I coughed and spattered blood on the floor. I looked up and saw the face of the don, fat and snow-white, staring right over me, cane in one hand, gun in the other. He smiled at me.

"Rise and shine," he said through gritted and golden teeth. He picked me up and threw me to other side of the room, where I fell into an empty bathtub. I ended up hitting my head on the sink, so I felt cold blood down my back. I coughed and felt the blood trickle down my chin.

"I see," he smiled, "You can kill one of my men, my _best friend_, and quite a few others, and you can smoke all you want. But a little bit of blood down your chin and you finally feel dirty enough to take a bath!?" He laughed and picked me back up. He hit me hard. The impact forced my tooth to fall back into my throat, choking me in the process. I coughed and my tooth hit him in the eye.

"Ouch!" he screamed and bent over to pick the tooth from his eye. It was my chance! I lifted my leg to hit him in the stomach, and he caught it in mid-air.

"Ah-ah-ah" he sung playfully, and wagged his finger. He turned to me, and I saw my tooth protruding from his eye. Stuck like a knife. He smiled, and then his face formed strain. He squeezed on my leg and then broke it.

"ARGH!" I yelped in pain as he threw me to the ground. My head hit the edge of the tub in the same place it so-recently hit the sink.

I nearly drowned in the blood I was coughing. He got up and pulled my tooth from his eye and winced. He looked at me…and I saw his eye turning red. It was peculiar…very odd. It was as if his bloodshot bits were forming together and slowly spreading outward. He sensed my disgust, smiled playfully and said, "Don't be afraid. I wouldn't hurt a fly!" But then his smile faded. "But you're less than the shit it eats!" he exclaimed and picked me up.

He hit me 4 times in my temple and pulled on my fingers, outward and upwards, breaking all of them except one…

My trigger finger.

He picked up my silenced pistol from across the room as I lay dazed near the tub. He handed me the gun and said "Let's make a deal. I'll take this Single Action Army and you'll take that piece of shit, and you and I will have a quick draw match. You win and kill me, I'll let you go. But make sure I'm all the way dead or I'll find you again. But…if I _win_, you'll lose more than your life, kid."

I agreed. I tried to get up, and remembered my leg was broken.

I almost teared up; he handed me his own cane. The glint in his eye made me realize…he wanted me to win.

But … "why?" I asked him. He smiled. "Being in this business…" he took a long pause, "It's no walk in the park, my friend. I don't need this anymore. I'm old. I'm too old. You, however…you're ready to tear down this whole operation. But first, in order to live and kill the rest of my most trusted men…you have to kill me."

He put the gun in my hand so I would be able to keep it locked and my trigger finger was the only finger supporting the gun. I got up on his cane and stumbled a bit before I got used to it. I then put the gun in my pocket and looked up. He smiled warmly…yet lusting for blood.

"Ready? Okay…on you go. 2"

"Three…" I gripped the gun hard.

"Two…" I wrapped my finger around the trigger…

"One…" I readied myself…

The door burst open and in poured three guards. I looked over and felt something hit my head. I looked to my right and found the Single Action Army lying next to me, white with the knuckles of the Don and red with the blood from my temple. I slowly closed my eyes…

I awoke again to the feeling of water gushing down my face. I looked up and saw the don at the other end of the room with a bucket.

"I apologize," he paused, "for leaving you so abruptly. But…duty calls." He smiled. I looked to my left; my gun. To my right; the cane.

"You know," he continued, "I felt like killing you four times while you were out, and once, I almost did. But I wanted this final moment to truly last. So are you ready to pick up where we left off?"

Without hesitation I hassled with the cane in the palm of my right hand and grabbed the gun with my left. I nodded.

"Good…be ready…"

I put the gun back in my pocket.

"Three…two…one…"

I whipped out my gun and so did he. The feeling was so slow in my hand that my arm felt painful lifting the gun. He was fast for his age. He nailed me right in the arm. Subsequently…I dropped the cane.

I fell to the ground and dropped the gun. He shot me in the foot. The sound rang out and so did my scream. I flipped myself over and reached for my gun and managed to grab it. I gripped it hard and felt a bullet nearly miss the back of my neck. Wood from the floor stung at my neck from the debris of the bullet.

I remembered Toni. I needed to remember that strength I felt…what was it…? Not only being high but…

Depression. Depression and anger were the fuel to the fire. I needed to somehow be angry about him… but how? Thinking quickly, I rolled to the cane and across the floor, narrowly missing 2 bullets. He only had one left in his gun. The SAA carries 6 bullets where-as a standard revolver carries seven. So I ducked behind the tub and heard him sigh. I heard his footsteps slowly approach. He thought he had me.

I was thinking hard. Aside from kicking the crap out of me, there's nothing he did. Wait…whatever happened with Toni in my house must have been his doing. He sent his friend to kill me. Why? I used this as the fuel. Me, a simple man, almost shot by the biggest guy in Liberty City, for no reason. I'll show him how I feel for it…

I got up and stumbled with the cane.

"Oh, _there_ you are. You know, I've only got one shot left."

I was tired of his monologue. I pulled up my pistol at the point were his gun was at his side and I shot him square in the chest. I heard his rib-cage shatter.

"FUCK!" he screamed. He held his chest and fell to the ground, dropping his gun. I walked on over to him and picked up the gun.

"Good job, kid," he said, "But remember…I am not dead yet."

"I know, sir," I said. "Maybe my gun-shots were quiet…but yours isn't; which means the men out there, who I am sure are ready to kick my ass if I step out that door, can hear this SAA. That means, one more shot rings out…and you kill me." I smiled and so did he. "So you see, sir. You're not dead." I lifted the gun and cocked it.

"I am."

_**BANG!**_

I tore open his face. I gripped the cane harder.

"Okay…" I thought aloud, "Now to escape."

Devil's Rejects reference. Love that move.

2 Manhunt reference. Sick game.


End file.
